News Flash: Sex is a Distraction

When things ended with Date #4, I made a promise to myself: I wouldn’t get into another relationship for six months. It was clear that I couldn’t handle being in a relationship without losing my momentum in other areas of my life, and I was beginning to see a pattern of jumping from one long-term relationship to another. I’d been a serial monogamist since I was 14. One relationship after another. Some started before others had even ended. It was time for a change.

So, no relationships for six months. I decided that they were simply too big a distraction for the kinds of big things I was trying to achieve – applying to business school, saving for my first house, climbing the corporate ladder, crafting my own business, etc.

Did that mean I wasn’t going to have sex for six months either? I mean, let’s be realistic here. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I don’t really have it in me to sleep with someone I’m not romantically interested in, or rather couldn’t be romantically interested in. I tried the “friends with benefits” thing with GIWS, who actually ended up becoming one of my best friends after our relationship ended, but that got messy fast and I decided for the sake of our friendship that needed to be an “emergencies only” kind of thing.

New Year’s Eve rolls around. And I pick up a guy in a bar. And take him home. Ahem. I. Do. Not. Do. This. OK, well I haven’t done it since like, college. But I sort of figured, why not? I got home at 6 a.m. and slept the whole next day. Then we went out again, and I got home at 10:30 a.m. the next day. And I got a bad cold.

I’ve come to the rapid conclusion that not only are relationships a distraction, but so is sex. You heard me: sex is a distraction.

The pursuit of, anticipation of, before and after of – major distractions. How much time do women spend shaving their legs, bleaching their teeth, plucking their eyebrows, getting or giving themselves manicures and pedicures, shopping for the perfect ass jeans, putting together an outfit for a night out, doing our makeup, blow-drying our hair, posturing at the bar, convincing ourselves we can hunt down a worthwhile guy in a club when we know it’s not true, talking about it with our girlfriends, wondering if he’s going to call, and if so, when? I don’t even know how to figure out how much time guys spend thinking about it, but it’s safe to assume it’s at least 75 percent of their waking hours.

And at the end of the day, you still haven’t studied for the GMAT. You’re too tired to go for a run, and you get such a bad cold from your lack of sleep due to Mr. New Year’s Eve’s snoring that you have to take an afternoon off of work during a critical proving-yourself-in-your-new-promotion phase.

Is it worth it? Is sex just one really big distraction? It’s exciting, enticing, and when it’s good, it’s even a little dirty. But it’s fleeting. And what’s been passed up, what effort has been skimped, that lasts. A lower GMAT score, a lesser business school. A missed run can equal three missed runs since you got out of your groove, then you run a minute-less-than-average mile at your 5K. And being less than 110 percent on your career? Well, I don’t even need to go there.

Perhaps this is really why there’s such a gap between male and female earning after their 20s. It’s a lot more socially acceptable for a man to stay out of relationships while pursuing his career, or in the words of less eloquent men, “getting their shit together.” But that’s not the case for 20-something women. There must be something wrong with us if we’re not doing the sex-dating-relationships thing while pursuing our career goals as well. Somehow, we are less feminine. We become “career ladies” or are seen as ball-busters. We are told that taking our work seriously makes us masculine, and we are given tips on being sexy and career-driven at the same time. Well, that part is actually OK with me. I was clamoring along with the rest of you for Hilary to get rid of the pantsuit (seriously, woman, wear a skirt!).

I think a lot of young women are not necessarily in the settle-down life stage, and yet still feel pressured to date and search for The One in anticipation of the onset of that life stage. Why not embrace that stage? And if you still have too much on your plate, why not take sex off the menu in favor of something that will have a greater impact on your life than getting laid on New Year’s Eve?

So, I’m off it all. Sex, dating, relationships. All of it. At least while I prep for the GMAT this month. When it comes down to it, I’ve got priorities – too many if you ask anyone around me. And sex just doesn’t make the list.

Yeah. Ask me what I think in two weeks.

Photo by Bottom-Feeder via Flickr.

How to Break Your Own Heart

I suppose I had it coming. Things were just too good, and I couldn’t let well enough alone. I’d just gotten a tremendous promotion, and after a week’s vacation in New York, Date #4 and I had reconnected on a new level. I’d finally settled into our relationship after waffling on whether or not I ought to be in one. I let myself fall in love again, and we celebrated our six-month anniversary with a fancy dinner out.

And, despite the fact that he had decided with much finality that he would be moving away come the new year and that neither of us wanted to carry on a long-distance relationship, we were getting along splendidly.

I couldn’t let well enough alone.

I’d been reading about open relationships. It all made sense to me. Were we really made to be monogamous? I’m evolved enough to know that what we feel and have between us is stronger than sex. I’m progressive enough to know that sex is just sex, and what we have is intimacy and love. How many relationships had I ended just because the proverbial grass looked greener on the other side? Nearly all of them.

So, Date #4 and I had a long talk about fidelity, openness, sexuality, trust… and we came to the conclusion that since we’d been ending our relationship in two months anyways, why not try a little experiment? We made a list of people we didn’t want the other to sleep with and insisted on total honesty. This was Tuesday evening.

Date #4 headed out of town for the weekend, and work kept me in town. So, I decided to begin our Great Experiment by heading out to the club to carry on as an Ethical Slut. The funniest thing happened though. As I looked around at the men hitting on me, none of them came close to Date #4. I realized how little I really wanted to sleep with anyone. Sure, it sounded nice in the theoretical sense, but when faced with it, I balked. More than anything, I missed him.

I left the too-interested guy sitting next to me at the club early on in the night, and texted Date #4. No answer. I fell asleep and woke early to a horrific nightmare – I’d dreamt that he’d slept with someone the night before. I needed to terminate the experiment before something irreparable happened. I called. Straight to voicemail.

I was petrified.

Finally, he called. “Oh, finally,” I said with tears in my throat. “I can’t do this. I had this terrible dream last night that you slept with someone else.”

Silence.

“I did.”

Silence.

“Are you serious? You’re not serious.”

Silence.

I wanted to vomit. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? What ever made me think that I could share the man I love so deeply with anyone and not care?

I’m devastated and I’m heartbroken, and it’s my own fault. It was my idea. I can’t be angry or pissed off at him. I have no idea how I’ll forgive myself, and I have no idea what will happen with our relationship.

I met up with a friend early and he looked at me and said, “You know, Holly, no offense, but you don’t have the personality for an open relationship.” Hindsight is 20/20.

So, let me offer you my lessons since I came by them so hard.

1. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Date #4 and I had two more good months left to enjoy one another and the opportunity to part amicably. I have a tendency to pick and pick and pick at something, until voila! Disaster.

2. Give yourself sometime to consider the weight of your decision. Based on one conversation, we made a very big decision and barreled ahead. We didn’t even give ourselves a full week to sleep on it.

3. Be willing to accept the consequences. I knew this outcome was possible, that our decision might ruin everything, but I really thought I was much more progressive than that. Imagine the worst-case scenario and the best-case scenario. Ask yourself if the worst is worth the best. In hindsight, my answer would be no.

4. Consider both sides of the story. I didn’t read one negative article about open relationships. I only read the positive ones. That’s poor decision-making.

I don’t know if Date #4 and I will survive this or not. The “emergency brake” we both agreed upon in our original conversation has definitely been pulled, but I’m not sure what to do now. It seems unfair to end everything because he did what we said we would do, but I’m also very, very confused. Why did he do it so fast? Why didn’t the feelings that kept me from hooking up with someone keep him from it? Would I have cared so much if I had hooked up with someone too?

I don’t have the answers. I’m just learning as I go along, and there’s some collateral damage sometimes. In this case, it’s my own heart. I can tell you that it’s the last time I will handle it so lightly.

How my mom helped me lose my v-card

That dynamic duo over at HoneyAndLance invited me to a roundtable on virginity, and who am I to deny that kind of combined sexual magnitude? So here’s the WorkLoveLife treatment of virginity.

Personally, I lost my v-card at 17. It was my junior year of high school and my high school boyfriend and I had been together for something like 8 months. That’s a serious relationship there. I knew he was the one I would lose it with, based on timing and all, but I wanted to wait until I was 17. The national average at the time for females losing their virginity was 16 and dammit, I wasn’t going to be some statistic. We went to a Brian Setzer/Bob Dylan concert, and didn’t stick around for Bob Dylan. Instead, we did it.

Eh. I literally remember counting ceiling tiles with that particular boyfriend. High school sex doesn’t have much to do with actual gratification in my experience, at least not for women.

The coolest part about my experience? My mom allowed me the space to be completely honest with her without judgment. She had my sister at 17 and me at 22. She also lost a kidney due to a urinary tract infection that spread because she was too afraid to tell her mother that she had been screwing around as a teenager.

She wanted both my sister and I to be as open as possible with her when we were “ready.” A few months before I lost it, I told my mom that I might be getting close. She took me a gynecologist and I got on the Pill. She never judged me or pried.

She asked me a few months later had I done it. I hesitated, “Yeah.” I furrowed my brow. “What?” she asked. “It just, um, wasn’t what I expected,” I said. She laughed, “It gets better.”

I’ve been a vocal advocate for women’s reproductive rights and against abstinence-only education for this reason. The way some politicians endorse ignorance is beyond me. Clearly, young women are having sex. Even if they weren’t, why wouldn’t you teach them? Hell, when my mom explained to me the downsides of a guy ejaculating inside you, I steered clear of that for years. And probably avoided a lot of nasty side effects in the process.

I also have a claim most women don’t get in this day and age. I deflowered my first three boyfriends. There was junior year boyfriend (see above), senior year boyfriend, and freshman/sophomore year of college boyfriend. And let me just say, virgin sex was lacking. While it might sound fun to get to “train” them, it’s not. Sometimes you just want someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. Once I finally did with my first non-virgin guy, I’m happy to say I’ve never done another virgin. Besides, age-wise it just would’ve been improbable at that point.

All of this said, I don’t think virginity is something to be taken lightly. Thanks to my mom’s openness with her experiences and having an actual sex education class, I really weighed my decision before I did it. I’m glad that I wasn’t drunk or with someone who didn’t care about me. I’m glad that I got to do it with someone who was doing it for the first time too. I didn’t feel intimidated or pressured. I didn’t feel ashamed or wish I had waited longer. I’m grateful for that.

As to this new rash of women selling it off, I’m disturbed by it. I’m not sure how I feel about the commoditization of sex. It’s nothing new, though. When a geisha came out of her apprenticeship period, her mizuage was auctioned off to the highest bidder. Really, that’s all these girls are doing. Of course, geishas were an important part of Japanese culture and this portion of it was conducted with a certain amount of respect and ritual. All in all, why would you want your first time to be with some guy who’s willing to spend upwards of $250,000 on deflowering a girl? Gross.

I figure the experience is difficult enough as it is – it’s emotional – at least it was for me – and it signals a new phase of life. Why would you want to bring any more pressure to bear on it?

Some things really are sacred

I won’t be writing as much about love and relationships as I have been lately. I do, however, want to explain why because I am very committed to being open and honest with you guys. While it didn’t take me long to make this decision, it was a difficult one. My readers have told me repeatedly that they enjoy my relationship posts the most and that made it difficult, because I want to give you what you like to read.

That said, two big things came up yesterday, aided by one little comment on another blog. One is that I have entered weekly counseling. If you read this blog regularly, then you know I’ve been in a funk. And since I’ve always been completely honest with you all, you seem to know me, and you’ve been asking if I’m OK. After a few months of trying different things (exercise, diet, time alone, time together, on meds, off meds, relaxing), I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t fix this one on my own.

A major part of my counseling centers around what it is that makes a strong, independent, intelligent young woman like myself turn into a weak, self-doubting nervous wreck in relationships. Call me crazy, but I think I need to give myself some privacy to work out these issues. My counselor has also asked me to keep the content of my sessions between him and me. Besides, I really don’t think you’ll want any relationship advice from the likes of me.

Also, Date #4 has been an avid reader since we first got together. The freedom I have enjoyed thus far in letting my writing roam far and wide through my relationship-related thoughts has lasted a lot longer than I thought it would. At this point in my relationship, I think it’s time to back off for both our sakes. I have to admit that there are posts I have would have a hard time dealing with if I were in his shoes.

A special thanks to Dad’s House here. The author responded in his own comment section on writing about relationships while they are ongoing: “In fact, I don’t blog about any relationships while I’m in them, out of respect to the other person.” It honestly hadn’t occurred to me that I was being disrespectful to Date #4 by broadcasting my joys, fears, and issues regarding our relationship to the world. Like I said, I’m not sure you want to take relationship advice from me.

Now, don’t think that I’m being secretive. I am happy to answer any questions you might have, love-related or otherwise, via email. Those of you who have emailed with me know I’m an open book. And this isn’t to say I won’t ever blog about love, my relationship, etc. I will, but only when I can be as open and honest as you are used to me being and can offer you something valuable without hurting anyone in the process.

Hey, maybe I’ve achieved some work/love balance after all.

Photo by dimi15 via Flickr.

Do We Love or Do We Emulate?

All day they’ve been playing Marlon Brando movies. I can’t believe how hot he was. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed him before. It’s not just that he’s attractive – it’s that he’s my ideal. My type to say the least. Hotter even than Paul Newman, because he’s got brown eyes. No, if I’m honest it’s because he looks just like him, like Paul.

Before happening upon "Julius Caesar" as I channel-surfed, it’d been months since I thought of Paul. It’d been ages since I uttered the name of the man I judged all other men against. Until he was there. On the screen, except it was Marlon Brando. Is he objectively my ideal or is it that he’s the spitting image of my first love, my first romantic admiration?

Paul was the embodiment of everything I thought I could ever want in a man. I was 17 maybe, when I first walked into his bookstore. He was so cute that my shy bookworm self could barely lift my eyes to meet his whenever I came in to buy whatever Truman Capote book I hadn’t yet read. I became a regular and he finally drew me out. At some point, I even stopped blushing the entire time I was around him.

He had big warm brown eyes (I’ve been a sucker for them ever since) and short, blond hair that had a bit of a curl, not unlike Brando as Mark Antony. And though he had a small fame, he had an athletic build from years of soccer. He wore V-neck sweaters with a white T-shirt peeking out from underneath, something I’ve also been a sucker for ever since. (For some odd, odd reason every guy I’ve ever dated since has refused to wear a V-neck sweater. I wonder if they knew how much play it would get them, if that would make a difference. But I digress…)

He wrote, on an old Underwood typewriter no less, painted, and played wonderful records. He is responsible for cultivating my love for Chet Baker, jazz, and various indie pop bands. Best of all, he owned a bookstore, his dream... a dream he’s left a six-figure accounting job for in Atlanta. That made him almost untouchable in my 17-year-old lexicon.

When I visited home from college, his shop was one of the first places I went and I was always guaranteed a cup of coffee and great conversation. At some point, I think I was in my junior year, we hooked up. It was like fornicating with a god. Whenever I was between relationships, I knew I could hook up with Paul. Really it only happened a handful of times, but how many people get to do it with someone they idolized? I’m not sure there’s been a more perfect morning in my life than one cool Florida winter morning, air streaming through the window, in Paul’s bed, having coffee. He touched me the way I always wanted to be touched, and saw me the way I'd always wanted to be seen. He had a way of stripping everything away.

I’ve never dated a man who could hold a candle to Paul, and most people would probably say they couldn’t because of the pedestal I placed him on. There’s truth in that, and five or six years later, I can see his faults. He was emotionally unavailable and closed off, unable to commit. And let’s face it: he was willing to sleep with a 20-year-old when he himself was 32.

Still, I’m not so sure that’s all of it. I wonder now, though, whether I more admired him so much as I wanted to be him. I myself was an artist, a book lover, a dreamer, a soccer player, and later, I could find, a writer. I admired the courage it took to leave that kind of security, knowing that he came from the same alcoholic, working class background as I had, to pursue his dream of owning his own business.

I identified with his vivacity and openness in thought. He was so much stronger than me it seemed. He was so confident in who he was, and he seemed genuinely at ease in his solitude. I guess I still do admire Paul, though he’s closed his bookstore and moved on. While I say that I judge all men against him, perhaps it’s really myself that I’m measuring.

Work/love balance: The new work/life balance struggle

When I began to hear the phrase “work/life balance” thrown around, I figured it didn’t apply to me. It was my older coworkers with family who mostly used it. Work/life balance meant “time with the kids and spouse.” So I dismissed it. It had nothing to do with me, single childless Holly who has the energy to work three or four jobs and train for marathons.

Then I got a boyfriend.

Anyone who has read this blog for the past 8 weeks or so knows that I’ve struggled to keep everything on my plate plus boyfriend on the side, but things keep slipping off like some overly eager kid’s plate at the dessert buffet. I’ve talked to friends, mentors, even a life coach, listed my priorities, and promptly removed… nothing.

There are so many things I want to pursue that I can’t imagine cutting anything. It’s asking a lot that I’m not adding anything. 

So, I’ve struggled to show the boyfriend that I am committed to us, that I’m willing to put in the time, that I want to spend time together. Actually, that might not be true. I think all I’ve really done is figured out ways to carve out pieces of the week where I can relax or do some work with him. At any rate, this is a new class of balancing act for me – the work/life balance.

Huh? Work-what balance? To me, life and work are fairly seamlessly integrated. I’m not sure what I’d rather be doing on a Sunday besides sitting in my favorite café with a hot chocolate, blogging my guts out. Who wouldn’t want to be integrating a printer into a wireless network on a Tuesday evening? I can honestly say that most nights I would rather be slinging coffee than watching television on the couch.

Instead of saying “Life? What life?” I have “Work? What work?” Unfortunately, it does take up a lot of time though, and I wonder at the end of the day what kind of energy I have leftover for my relationship – for love. I would say the majority of nights I dive headlong into my bed and I’m literally lights out before the BF flips the switch.

So what does this new work/love balance thing mean? I’m not really sure. I can’t say I’ve got it figured out. Perhaps it’s a sign of my youth, but mostly fear swirls around it. If you’re in love, should you place a higher value on that rather than your work? Should one or the other be the entrée and the other the side dish? Is it a matter of finding a person who makes you want to stop spending so much time on your work, makes you think it’s the higher value automatically? Is my relationship to my work and career so perverse that I should just give up on love altogether?

In all honesty, I am sometimes struck with the fear that my work is my only one true love in life. I have no doubt that God made me and business out of the same clay, sprinkling entrepreneurship in my blood like stars in the sky. It’s always there for me, ready to make my day, impatient when I’m away and greeting me with new ideas and excitement. Where does love fit into my already-existent love affair with work?

I glance at the title of my website, WorkLoveLife. People have asked me if that’s how I prioritize the three, if it means anything special. Honestly, it was the only combination of those three words available for a domain name. But, maybe that is it’s significance in my life – at the end of the day, I make work, love and life fit together the only way available to me.

Photo by RaidersLight.

On codependency and discovering the obvious

I’ve come a long way in the past 15 months. I’ve survived the fledgling first year of sobriety, lost two dear people, been named employee of the month, and started a company that is finally catching it’s first big break. And yet, when it comes to my first honest-to-god mature relationship, my bright demeanor fades.

Before last year, I was a serial monogamist, jumping from one long-term relationship to another before the sheets could get cold. I knew that was a bad pattern, and when I got sober it was suggested to me that I not start any new relationships for a year. I’m a fast healer, and so, headstrong, decided I was well enough for a new relationship after six short weeks. You can imagine how well that turned out. After that I took that suggestion more seriously and faced my fear of being alone. And I embraced it.

I realized in those months of singlehood that without a significant other, I could be myself in a way I had never been able to be. Which was really important when you consider that I’d never really known myself in those formative post-adolescent years of drinking. When GIWS and I decided to be friends, it was a bit of a relief. I knew that I wasn’t ready to be in a LTR. I’m still not convinced that a year was long enough to become a fully formed, healthy person.

That said, when I met Date #4 I knew I’d found something I couldn’t pass up. After all, I’d have to get back out there sometimes. And besides, I felt phenomenal. I’d never been so sure of who I was in my whole life. Everything was organized just so, and I was steaming along. I penciled in dinners, coffees, and movie dates between appointments with clients and races. That kind of pace can be difficult to maintain, and somewhere between falling head over heels and two sinus attacks, I lost the balance.

I lost Holly.

OK, maybe I hadn’t lost myself completely. Maybe I’ve just been arrested by the fear that I will lose myself. I feel like a still-wet painting on the blank canvas that life-changing experience gave me. I’m afraid I’ll be smudged, or worse – that I’ll paint over it to match what I think that man wants.

Why is it that I can be so strong in every other aspect of my life, but turn into a jellyfish when it comes to men? What is it about being in a relationship that makes me fear the end of it? Because really, the core issue here is a fear that the person will leave me, finding whomever it is that I really am unacceptable.

And it hits me. Smacks me between the eyes. Every relationship that I have conducted in this manner has been codependent. And there’s the answer to the question I’ve been struggling with all week. I have a major fear of codependency. I watched my very sweet, but very alcoholic, father and my mother remain in a codependent relationship for 20 years. I listened to my mom cry after my father’s binges and say that she couldn’t leave him because she loved him and needed him. Needed him.

All of this hemming and hawing and distancing myself this week, wondering what it was that made me so willing to become whomever someone else wanted me to be if it meant that they would stay with me – I was struggling with my own codependency issues.

The irony is that anyone could’ve told you that I would have a problem with codependency. Lots of alcoholics do, so I feel a little foolish for feeling so “aha!” about it. Growing up publicly can be embarrassing, though effective.

So, what’s my solution? I simply need to remember that whether or not Date #4 and I stay together or not, that I’ll be OK. I don’t need him, and I have nothing to worry about – I loved being single. If the man weren’t such a damn fine catch, I would still be single (I had a lot of fun and it was a bit brief, in my opinion). The great thing is that I don’t need him – but for now, I want him. And he wants me. Should one or the other of us not want the other in the future, then that’s fine. I know that this relationship will make me a better person, whether it’s a brief experience or a lifetime. He has a lot to offer in the way of teaching me what a healthy relationship is; along with a few more things I’m sure.

You see? I’m already learning.

Introducing a new person into your life

When I met Date #4, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I was simply mixing a little business with pleasure when my online dating research yielded a surprising result – a dateable, attractive man with whom I was compatible. My life was run at a hectic, but efficient and highly effective pace. There simply wasn’t a whole lot of room. I liked it that way.

Things started slowly. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything serious, that I was, ahem, very busy and important. No time for a relationship, not looking for that sort of thing. He said he understood, respected my priorities, etc.

Then I fell in love with him.

The “serious” thing needed revising, obviously. As two people are apt to do when they find they enjoy one another’s company, we spent a lot of time together. 

A lot.

I stopped running. I stopped blogging as regularly. I stopped doing laundry and grocery shopping. I was deep in Cloud Cuckoo Land, as I like to call it. That place where newly formed couples spend way too long looking into each other’s eyes, sleeping really late on weekends, and having lots and lots of hot monkey sex. 

As much as I knew this was going to happen, I couldn’t stop it. Perhaps I didn’t want to stop it. What the hell? Falling in love is fantastic. Why skip all the fun stuff and move straight into routine? 

Incorporating Date #4 into my life isn’t the same as making a new friend or having a relative move into town. This is someone that I hope to have a meaningful relationship with. Anyone who has been in a relationship for a period of time knows that it takes time to get to know someone. I liked Date #4 and I wanted to learn about him – that takes time. Granted, you can take your time getting to know someone, but I tend to be an extremist with a “good” button instead of an “easy” button. If it makes me feel good or happy, I’ll slam that damn button till it’s broke. Luckily, I didn’t do that here.

Armed with a little bit of knowledge of myself and my habits, I tried to resist Cloud Cuckoo Land, but it was simply too alluring. GIWS and I had managed to see each other only once a week, twice tops, throughout the few months we dated. I tried to do this again, but to no avail.

When I got sick (again), my frustration reared its head. I had gained 5 lbs. I was completely out of racing shape. I’d been eating entire meals out of the vending machines at work. Thanks to my fourth sinus infection this year, I was waylaid and unable to stay awake long enough to do anything other than go to work. I reached my breaking point when my libido disappeared. WTF?!

A week later, I got better and I got some perspective. Date #4 and I have been together for only two months. I realized that I could maintain my old schedule and kick him out of my life or I could find a new routine. That period of everything going to hell was just a slash-and-burn method of prepping the soil for a new life. One that involves the man that I love and all the activities I love.

What I ended up having to do was first explain to him what was going on in my head. He understood and didn’t take it personally at all, which was essential for me to feel comfortable moving forward. I explained to him that there are a lot of things I enjoy doing that I haven’t been doing lately, and that I need a routine or schedule in order to make it all fit into my life.

I looked at my schedule, needs and priorities. I looked at his schedule, needs and priorities. He has two dogs, so he can’t stay over too often. I live out of the way of my work and his house, so I have to bring all my stuff for work if I’m staying over. It made more sense to do all that if I were staying two nights in a row. For both of our sanity and respect of personal space, I decided two nights apart would be good for us. Thus, a schedule emerged. I would stay with him Wednesdays and Thursdays, and he would stay with me on Tuesdays and Fridays. Sundays and Mondays we had off, and Saturdays I left to whim (even I don’t try to plan everything).

I make sure to bring my running shoes to his place and try to take the dogs out with me. I also run on the evenings we’re not seeing each other. The beginning of the week can be overwhelming for me, so that’s why I picked those two days to spend apart. It gives me the time to work on my blog, get my clothes ready for the week, and to generally spend time with myself, which I think is important in any relationship.

Once I identified the problem and communicated that to him, I was able to then ask, what now? How can I have both – him and my old life? Planning the nights was a great first step. It allows me to plan what will need to happen and when. The other stuff is simply up to me. Once I finished the relay marathon I had spent months training for in May, I had a hard time staying motivated, so I signed up for a race on July 4 and started looking for more to keep me running.

Maybe this is easy for some people to figure out, but I was really happy being single. My life was happy and whole when I met Date #4, so much in fact that if it weren’t for my sister’s sage advice to not let opportunities pass me by, I probably wouldn’t have made the leap.

I’m glad that I did, but that period of transition can be tough. I think it’s important to be honest with yourself, to communicate your frustration without laying any blame, and to get into the solution. Dwelling in the problem while I was sick yielded nothing but a depressing blog post (sorry!). Once I decided to try a solution, I was already feeling like my old self and it didn’t take long to get back on track.

Oh, and my libido came back. Thank god.

[Photo credit: Evan Romine]

I Do - For Seven Years

Last week, Adam Gilbert wrote a post on marriage that drew a veritable firestorm of comments. With a whopping 50 percent of marriages ending in divorce these days, one does begin to wonder what purpose the marriage contract serves realistically in today’s society. I thought it would be an interesting subject to discuss with the BF, considering his background in anthropology and his profession in law. He brought up an interesting concept – a seven-year marriage contract.

The man is brilliant, but not that brilliant. This is a concept that has been around for a while. That famous image of Marilyn Monroe standing over the subway grate holding her dress down – that’s from the “Seven Year Itch,” a movie about the phenomenon of married couples growing bored at the seven-year mark. Last September, a German politician suggested that the government actually allow a seven-year civil union contract, which drew international feather-ruffling.

I was immediately intrigued. Think of all the problems this could solve, I thought. For one thing, with 50 percent of all marriages ending in prolonged divorces, it sure would make things a lot less painful for both parties. For those of us entering into the marriage state believing that this will last, however, that probably isn’t the reason you would choose the seven-year contract.

I liked that it would be a reaffirmation of your commitment to one another. Every seven years you would ask yourself, “Is this still the right person for me?” Imagine how incredibly powerful that affirmation would be for the continued growth and life of your marriage.

I would love to see what the statistics would look like on the treatment you receive from your significant other around the six-year mark as well. I would guess that you might see your spouse become more attentive to you, knowing that the contract is up for renegotiation soon. Indeed, it’s one of my fears about marriage that after X number of years, you fall into such a comfort zone that you don’t really try anymore. I’ve watched couples grow inattentive, selfish, even downright mean as the years stretch on in a marriage. Somehow there’s a mindset (not always, but in these cases) that now that you’re married, it doesn’t really matter how polite you are to your significant other. After all, they’re committed. Having a contract would eliminate this, or give the offended party an out if it didn’t.

I like the idea that neither party is obligated to remain in the relationship. I know the outcry from the happily married community will be, “It’s not an obligation when you love the person!” But my fear would be that either party would feel obligated to remain in the marriage. After all, you’ve made a vow in front of your family, friends, deity of your choice to remain married forever. That’s a lot of pressure. Some people can (and do) crack under the idea of ‘forever.’ It’s kind of like how I stay sober – one day at a time. You ask me to stay sober for the rest of my life – I’d be cracking a bottle of wine by noon. I could see myself saying yes to seven years. Then after seven years, re-upping for another go around, and so on and so on.

I see the flipside of that token – neither party is obligated. Some people have argued that if neither party is committed to remaining for better or for worse, then you never feel the security of marriage. You or both of you never really feel secure in the relationship. You live with constant competition from the outside, a feeling that nothing is set in stone, that the seven years you are investing could be all there is. Your spouse could hold it over you – “If you don’t stop/start doing X, Y or Z then I’m not going to renew our contract.”

Perhaps worse than the feeling of obligation would be the possibility of one or the other riding the contract out for the remaining years. Imagine figuring out three or four years into your marriage that it’s not what you wanted. You might think, I’ll just hang on for another three or four years and let it expire. Your spouse might be thinking that without you knowing. If both parties are in this mindset, they might treat each other even worse, knowing that they’re unhappily bound for X more years (not that you couldn’t divorce early, but you might choose not to due to the cost or stigma).

Finally, on the con side, some might enter into the marriage state more lightly with a seven-year stipulation. I could imagine a 22-year-old thinking, Hey, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll only be 29 and I’ll still be able to find someone. Or, it could be a way for gold diggers to catch a free ride for seven years before ditching the poor schmuck. Conversely, it could also be a way for those old horny geezers to protect their assets from said diggers, hedging their bets on whether or not they’ll survive the term.

It’s highly unlikely our government would ever allow such a contract since each state’s government is set up to protect and encourage the marriage state. However, I think you’ll have an interesting conversation with your significant other on the topic. As for me and my significant other, we agreed it would be nice to have some sort of informal agreement at the outset to reevaluate a marriage seven years into it, and either to amicably dissolve or to reaffirm the relationship. For me personally, the merits outweigh the cons. But hey, I’m not there yet.

The Subtle Allure of A Life More Ordinary (or the Brainwashing of American Women)

There’s something about magazines like Real Simple and TV shows like House Hunters that depresses me. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but every time I attempt a sit on the couch post-work I am irritated by things like Everybody Loves Raymond. There’s a part of me that is suspicious that these forms of entertainment have been created to make us believe that not only are you content with your life, but you are enthusiastic about it, a subtle (or not-so-subtle, in my opinion) brainwashing of home-improving, toddler-yogaing, exasperated-but-happy-at-the-end-of-the-day, we’re-the-same-kind-of-unique status quo. Welcome to the new yuppiedom.

Maybe I’m just feeling particularly fed up with the new American dream this evening, as I sit in my underwear, toenails unpainted and unmanicured, eating Oreos with orange juice, wondering why I’m throwing 5 months of perfectly good conditioning down the drain. Maybe it’s that I’ve recently fallen in love and have caught myself twice already daydreaming into that magical land I call Not A Chance in Hell.

That place involves a relationship that can survive my apparent two-year statute of limitations with a guy who looks like a J. Crew model, a baby as cute and happy as the one that couple at the café has that will magically disappear when it needs to be fed/changed/burped or cries inexplicably, a house that requires little-to-no maintenance which of course we obtained at a steal, a thriving business that I built and doesn’t require me to be around all the time, and a Holly who does not feel overwhelming pinned-down and caged by it all.

Puh-shaw.

That’s when I turn off the TV. And call Real Simple to remind them, once again, that I unsubscribed two months ago. I fight off the sneaking suspicion that somehow, somewhere my father has bribed a Starbucks barista to spike my lattes with hormones. I have been told repeatedly that one day I will want all of these things. When I get a case of the I-just-want-to-be-upper-middle-class blues, I daydream another life.

In this life I usually am married, or in a long-term committed relationship. Yes, I am happy and content being single, but like many, I would like to have a companion through life. I think a character in Shall We Dance? sums it up best when she says people get married so that in a world of billions, one person says they will be the witness to your life. I agree with this. 

At any rate, 90 percent of me says no to kids. This is mostly a financial decision in my mind. Yes, I know you can be financially well off and have kids also, but the majority of folks are not. Here are a few examples of childless couples who are financially better off than their peers (especially where it comes to retirement). And here’s an entire online community dedicated to couples who have chosen not to have kids for a variety of reasons. I take comfort knowing that I'm not the only one out there like me.

Mostly, though, this daydream life is about being able to do the things I am passionate about without any compromises or guilt feelings, such as diving tirelessly into my own businesses, having a partner who I still find sexually appealing, coming nowhere close to any variety of poop/snot/vomit, and traveling at will and on whim.

I have nightmare versions of both of my daydreams, too. There’s one that revolves around divorce, debt, failed parenthood and suburbia, and there’s one that mostly involves being alone for the rest of my life realizing at 47 that all I really ever wanted was a family. These things occur to me. It also occurs to me that none of these scenarios are realistic, and that in life we end up somewhere in the middle. The glory part is that I actually know that I will be happy whichever dream I pursue or end up with inadvertently (life has a way of surprising us). My happiness resides within me, whatever the exterior.

In the meantime, no more HGTV for me. Or Oreos for that matter.

Off the Market?

This past week I’ve been grappling with what Love is exactly. Not the kind between friends and family, but the kind between two people in a relationship. Is it codependency? Is it having a partner in crime? A best friend you have hot sex with? Someone who can teach you something that you can in turn teach also? Is it an ethereal feeling that no one can pinpoint because it’s different for everyone? Is it forever or is it fleeting and something else carries you through the rest of the years?

I have no idea, to be honest. But I think I’m falling in love. And it’s got me nervous.

It would just be insane to say that I am actually in love at this point. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month. But to say I am in the process is true enough.

I’ve been hesitant to give a follow-up to my online dating post for several reasons, but it had a bit of a cliffhanger ending I suppose because my friends, family and readers have been asking for an update on the status of Date #4.

::Sap alert::

Even I groaned when I first heard myself say it. As a dyed-in-the-wool Sag, I am not prone to expressions of love or sentiment, nor do I always know how to handle them. Plus, let’s face it; I’m a bit of a commitment phobe. I really wasn’t looking for a relationship when this whole thing started with the online dating experiment. Just fun, just dates. Then Date #4 came along.

I knew I was in trouble after that second date. We ate great food and had some phenomenal conversation. Attraction was clearly mutual. It was definitely unexpected. I was nearly knocked off my feet when after mentioning my thesis he said, “Oh, Heidegger? I studied him a bit. What aspect of his philosophy was your thesis on?” Swoon. When he defended Nietzsche’s later thought, I was struck silent. Damn, I thought, he’s gonna keep me on my toes. Nerd love, I can’t help it.

Still, we kept it light, fun, casual. I was upfront and honest with him about not wanting anything serious, and he was cool with it. That lasted until this weekend. I could feel it happening. There was nothing wrong with him. I keep waiting for it to pop up, so we keep spending time together, though still only once or twice a week since we both maintain full, productive lives. But still nothing. Even the big red flag kind of stuff – like the fact that he has a kid – it doesn’t bother me. He’s open and honest and sincere, which apparently is like my Kryptonite. I trust him.

So, what does it mean when I’m done being all serious and heavy about it? I figure I handle most things in my life one day at a time, so I’ll do this the same way. I’m not going to freak out that I’m going off the market, will end up married with 3 brats in suburbia, then divorced and out-of-shape and broke at 47 (personal nightmare). I just have to handle today, and today it feels really nice to be falling in love.

It’s a tough to put this out there. I feel a little embarrassed considering I’ve been such a die-hard single as of late. I’ve reveled in it; I’ve loved it actually. Part of me still doesn’t want to give it up, but I can spot a good adventure when I see one. And I never pass up an adventure.

Me & the Great Online Dating Experiment

There’s this one site I am absolutely glued to, HoneyandLance.com. (Love ya, guys.) Mostly, I’ve been fascinated by the pick-up artist end of things. This experiment was inspired by a post in which Lance mentions that he opens up a girl by asking about crazy online dating stories, which most girls have. Not me, I thought. Not yet.

*Let me preface this by saying that I think we all know we each just want to get a little action at some point. I don’t think it’s fair that because I’m a female with a busy and full schedule without time for a serious relationship, I should be excluded from the nooky end of things. To further complicate matters, I don’t drink, so I can’t do what most of my girlfriends do – go out, drink a little, hook-up with a guy at the end of the night and blame it all on the alcohol.

So, how does a single, dare I say, attractive young woman with little time on her hands go about dating pretty much for the first time in her life because she’s been a serial monogamist since high school? You sign up for an online dating site and tell all your friends that you’re doing it as research for your blog.

Ha.

In all honesty, I’ve really enjoyed it. Some of my girlfriends have tried it, and those who haven’t are thrilled to watch me be the guinea pig and listen to my stories. I tend to approach most things these days with a sense of adventure, and admittedly, doing it as “research” for the site allowed me to stay unemotional about it. I just went for it.

Making the Profile
Here’s what I did. I made my profile. I first searched and found profiles I thought were appealing. I liked the profiles of guys who had travel and action photos, as well as clear mug shots. So I added those kinds of photos to my profile. Then I read a few I liked and shaped my profile after theirs. Specifics really are great, by the way. I got more comments about describing what I like to do after a good run more than any of the general "me" stuff.

Displaying Interest
Then I set my search criteria. I winked at all of the guys who I thought were good-looking and had interesting profiles, a conservative move in the world of online dating. (If you haven't online dated, "winking" is the simplest, most basic level of interest. Using it is often considered a wuss move.) Three of the original four wrote back. The good ones were brief (a couple lines), included something specific about my profile that they liked and asked a question, thus eliciting a response from me. I responded with matching length (imitation is a form of flirting) and similar comments. They usually e-mailed back a much lengthier response and thus deeper e-mail conversation began. After a few e-mails, meeting was suggested, and a few hours before meeting, numbers were exchanged.

The Dates
In total, I have dated four guys from the online dating site. I will not use their names here, but here’s the run-down.

Date #1: Lawyer, over 30, divorced, no kids.

Date #2: Financial advisor, closer to my age, never married, no kids.

Date #3: Pilot, over 30, divorced, no kids.

Date #4: Lawyer, over 30, never married, one kid.

Date #1
The first meet-up with Date #1 went well. We had good conversation, he was decent-looking and intelligent. It's just that I simply didn’t feel it. And although this might add credence to what some guys call impossibly high standards, I just couldn’t handle that he tucked his T-shirts into his jeans and wore a belt too. I don’t think that’s having high standards; I think it’s just a personality thing.

Things tapered off with him, especially after he seemed to be in constant contact – e-mailing, text messaging or calling. I realize that because of my busy schedule it can be difficult to display interest, but he came on too strong for me, especially given my slight case of relationship phobia (I’m a classic Sagittarius – can’t be tied down).

Date #2
Date #2 was a lunch date. Neither one of us had an evening free. Good sign, I thought. He takes his career seriously, too. I was also really excited to meet another young professional in my city (south Texas isn’t exactly Young Professional Central). We got along great and had decent conversation. Still there’s not much you can get from a one-hour lunch date, so I proposed a baseball game (I have phenomenal tickets behind home plate for our local AA ball club). By the end of the night, I pretty much figured this one for a really cool friend. We had lunch again, and it sealed the deal. I think we could both pretty much tell there wasn’t a spark there. I did invite him to a young pros networking event this weekend, and I think he’ll make a great contact and friend since we’re both driven in our careers.

Date #3
Date #3 was a bust. He looked a lot older than I thought he would. The convo was decent. I introduced him to two coworkers/friends who happened to be at the café we met at. The next day the male coworker asked if I had known Date #3 long. Nooo, I said slowly. Why? Ask Female Coworker, he said. Ohhhh. Forget it. He called, but I’m not returning it. Too complicated and I wasn't that interested anyway.

Date #4
By the time Date #4 rolled around, I had already decided to call it quits. This is the last one, I thought. No more freakin’ online dates. We met for Thai food. We ended up going for coffee and talking until 11 pm. He walked me to my car and stopped my door just short of closing, leaned in and said, “I had a really good time. Really.” Hmmm. I drove off smiling a little.

The next morning I decided to kick it up a notch. I sent a highly flirtatious text message: “Morning tiger. Great date last night. Hope you’re having a good Tuesday.” I figure this would indicate that I’m interested beyond a friendship level and hopefully surprise and delight a little. I figured it also showed self-confidence.

A client cancelled on me two days later, leaving me an unexpected hole in my schedule, and Date #4 just happened to ask on the off chance whether I was free for the evening. As a matter of fact…

He picked me up for dinner. I had some fear after Date #1 that all lawyers dress poorly, and our first date together he had arrived in full suit, fresh out of the office. Luckily, not so. He was perfectly dressed down and sporting glasses (H-O-T). More great dinner conversation. He could keep up with me intellectually, which is not common, and he could talk about personal stuff, which was refreshing after GIWS (Guy I Was Seeing).

I suggested a walk on the beach post-dinner (my new pad is a 120-second walk to the beach). More great convo. No smooch. He walked me to my door and I invited him in to check out the new digs I’d been raving about. Finally, make-out action. Good make-out action. Damn near perfect. Not too aggressive (I still have my tonsils, check), not too light (we have tongues, check). I let it slip that I am surprised, pleasantly so. He checks out for the evening and I go to bed thinking I might be in trouble.

Date #4 was unexpected, especially considering he’s the one with an actual deal-breaker (kid). I’m struggling a little to keep things in perspective and not to do the I-can't-have-a-relationship freak-out thing, considering we've had two dates. But that's a whole other can of worms. I’ve definitely made it clear to him that my businesses are my number one priority and that I don’t have a lot of free time. I have also made it relatively clear that I’m not looking for anything serious. Hopefully that's enough for now.

How I Maturely Ended a Relationship… For the First Time

Guy I’ve Been Seeing and I hadn’t seen each other in probably two weeks. With the website taking off at the same time as my IT consultancy, I had become insanely busy. GIBS was almost equally busy with his career. When we were seeing each other, it was pretty much for, er, one thing.

During this particularly long stretch between sightings, I’d got to thinking about our relationship. Hold on a second. I just said relationship. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. GIBS is thus named for a reason. I had such a mortal fear of saying BF, GIBS was the shortest description I could come up with to describe our association to friends and family members. But here it was four or five months into it, and how long could you possibly just be “dating” someone?

With my career taking off in so many different directions, I knew time was going to be limited. I got to thinking about GIBS though. All of this really great stuff pretty much started because of him and that question he asked on our second date. He was always there for me – supporting me, holding me accountable, pushing me through the tough parts when I wanted to give up. He could pump me up when I needed it, and he could celebrate my successes. And he genuinely felt them. I could pretty much tell him anything. I respected his opinion and sought his advice on most things.

Holy crap, I thought. He’s one of my best friends.

I certainly didn’t want to ruin things with my best friend. At the same time, I knew that it wasn’t going to work as a couple. Neither one of us were cut off for coupledom, at least for the time being. We’d talked repeatedly about our relationship fears, our happiness in being single, etc. Every time I ended something with someone though, we never really stayed friends. We might talk, but it eventually tapered off or imploded when I realized they were holding onto the friend card thinking I would change my mind.

I talked it over with one of my mentors (people, if you haven’t already, find an older person you respect, admire and talk openly with on all matters). I decided honesty was the best policy. I sort of had this feeling that he might be feeling the same way I was anyhow.

So our schedules finally synced up and we went for sushi. We talked about the great and busy things in our lives – my new apartment, his new house, my IT consultancy taking off, his big trips coming up.

“Well, it sounds like we’ve both got really full lives right now,” I commented, looking down at the table. I raised my eyes and gave him a knowing look. He met my eyes and I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

“Look, with all this stuff going on, it just seems like maybe we don’t have time for a relationship,” I pushed through.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking that lately, too,” GIBS agreed, looking relieved.

“Here’s the thing though,” I continued. “You’ve actually become really important to me.” I told him everything I’d realized about he and I as friends. I told him that he’d become one of my best friends and that friendship is a rung higher than a relationship in my book.

“So you don’t want me to just go away?” he asked.

“No!” I reassured. “Look, I need you as a friend.”

We continued talking and walked to our cars. I wondered, and hoped, that we would really stay friends. And we have. I think we’re actually closer than we were when we were dating. We talk on the phone regularly, text our triumphs and ‘how you doing’s to each other often. We hang out, and true friend that he is, he helped me move this past weekend. We’ve had dinner and great, interesting conversations. I feel like I’m more myself around him than ever, because just like any other friend, I figure he’ll figure my faults and flaws. I don’t fear judgment. I can roll over to his place sans make-up and not give a crap since we’re just friends anyways.

And while the FB card is definitely on the table, I’ve filed it away for a rainy day. Today I’m totally cool being good friends.

Note: Hereto forward, GIBS will be known as GIWS (Guy I Was Seeing).

You Can Land a Job, But You Can't Land a Man: Successful Women Remain Single

An article caught my eye earlier this week on MSN about the (apparent) amplitude of single, successful women who (gasp) may never find a man.

The article sites the following as the major obstacles these women are facing:
1. They want someone as successful as they are
2. Little time leftover for dating after work and other priorities

But there is one that stands out as the bigger issue:
3. They simply intimidate their male counterparts

I recently had a conversation with Guy I’ve Been Seeing about this very thing. I’m not exactly your prototypical hard-as-nails businesswoman. I don’t think they’ve existed since the ‘80s and the days of mandatory hosiery in the office, so let’s just kill that stereotype now. I am, however, very driven and motivated, like so many of my fellow successful Gen Y females.

Since high school, my intelligence and my inability to hide behind a pretty, artificially dumbed-down exterior has gotten in the way of my love life. I began to notice the trend in college, when one of my friends pointed out to me that guys were probably just intimidated by me. Me? I asked. I’m 5’ 3”, a buck-nothing. How is that intimidating? A boyfriend confirmed the theory. “You’ve always intimidated me,” he said. “You’re smart, but in a business way that I’m not.”

GIBS couldn’t believe this. “You? Intimidating? How?” he said. I explained to him about how most guys (I’m speaking from experience now) would rather have someone who is a little less complicated, a little easier, with a little more time on their hands… in essence, they would rather be the alpha. I don’t work well with that. I don’t like being the alpha either, though.

That’s where the real problems start to happen. It’s a difficult balance to find – a guy that challenges you would have to be at your level in some sense, pursuing his own goals, career, and success, who is also supportive of your success, and who is looking for that type of woman. Not to mention all the other little stuff people like in relationships, like compatibility, shared values and common interests, etc.

That’s not to say I haven’t had boyfriends. Up until the past year, I was in a string of long-term relationships since high school. The problem was that the guys I ended up with simply didn’t have the cojones to challenge me the way I needed to be back then. I’ve finally learned how to challenge myself, but I think I’d still like someone who is working on achieving his own big dreams and goals.

So, now here I am at 26, single for the first time since college and I’m being given a fairly bleak outlook. The more successful I become, the harder it’s going to be to connect.

But see, I don’t think these women are sitting around at home, crying into their Chardonnay about it. I think the article totally misses the point. These women aren’t willing to settle for anything less than what they want because the lesson their success has taught them is that they can achieve great things in spite of the odds. They are Whole People who aren’t okay with accepting anything less than another Whole Person.

Speaking for myself, I have accepted the idea that I could possibly never be married. Some people might say that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t think it is. Fifty percent of all marriages in divorce, remember? A very small fraction of married folk believe their marriage could in divorce. Who’s fooling whom here? If I can be okay with being single for potentially the rest of my life, then I am not going to wait around to do things. I’m going to charge full force. And somewhere out there, there is a guy who thinks that’s hot. He’s the guy for me.

Good Work Life = Good Sex Life

Recently my career life has taken off in unexpected ways. I got a raise at work. My IT consultancy has a steady, dedicated customer, and plans for increasing the client base are going well. My blog site, WorkLoveLife.com, has skyrocketed within the past two weeks, with traffic increasing exponentially.

I was riding a huge wave, and suddenly I exuded confidence in a way I never have. My newfound success gave me a sense of poise that spilled over into other areas of my life. Why not upgrade to a nicer apartment on the beach when my lease is up in a month? I’ve earned it. Why not gun forward on that project at work? I know it will work.

Here’s a not-so-secretive secret about confidence. Not only does it dramatically increase your odds of getting what you want, but it does wonders for your sex life. Self-confidence is sexy. Someone who knows what she or he wants and goes after it is, well, hot. There are no two ways about it.

I read a blog recently about why you actually want to date a player (hat tip: HoneyAndLance). A lot of it has to do with self-confidence. I have to admit by the end of the post I realized that the guy I’ve been seeing is sort of a player. And I like it. I love that he’s confident, self-assured and comfortable in social situations.

I didn’t make the correlation between career and sexual confidence until recently. Given the number of deaths and illnesses in my life recently, let’s just say I haven’t exactly been feeling it. Something snapped on Saturday though. After looking at a fabulous 1-bedroom condo on the beach and deciding to take it, I was riding high. I went shopping and after realizing that all the running had paid off in the loss of both a jean size and a shirt size, I asked myself why I shouldn’t go all out on the weekly Saturday night dance-a-thon. Some cherry-red lipgloss and a new pair of jeans later, I knew I was looking good. More than that, I was feeling good. I was rocking it.

One problem. The guy I was seeing said earlier that day he wasn’t game for going out. Exuding a confidence he was unaccustomed to seeing in me, I messaged him: “You should reconsider. I’m looking pretty damn good tonight.” Some more flirty text messaging ensued (totally out-of-character for me), and before long I had him: “We’re on our way.”

Don’t feel too bad for him. He knew what I was up to from text message #1. That didn’t matter – what got him was the surprising new attitude I wore. It was clear that I knew what I wanted that night and that I went after it. It was a turn on, not just for him, but for me too. I wasn’t nervous, anxious, distracted, or busy trying to decipher whether or not he was thinking the same thing I was. I had my eyes on the prize.

The interesting thing is that I always thought that this wasn’t part of my make-up. That in order to be one of those sexy, confident women, I would have to act, play a part. The truth is nothing has come more naturally.

A warning here. It goes without saying that over-confidence is decidedly unsexy. Take it too far and you’ll come off arrogant, stuck-up, better-than or all of the above. Not hot.

Are Schedules Made for Breaking?

I recently got a question from a reader and responded to it. It clarifies some of my thoughts related to relationships, ambition and organization, so I thought I would share it here.

Question:
"Just curious, are you secretly one day hoping for some man of your dreams character to come along and throw you off your schedule and change your life? Or do you ever feel like maybe you're organizing your life too much? I'm not saying you are, but a lot of the blog is organizing your life, and though you're not there now, it seems like you might progressively become a schedule book. Sometimes I want to become a schedule book, but just so I can break out of it."

Answer:
"Hmm... No, I don't secretly want a man to throw me off my path. As a matter of fact, the past few months I've become rather relationship phobic. I would say that I'm afraid someone will throw me off, but I'm not afraid of it because I know I wouldn't let it happen.

I schedule my time, but I schedule it so that I can fit in all the things that I love doing. When I was doing it without a schedule, I felt crazed and time-starved constantly. The fun things were falling to the wayside because I was running around distracted.

I leave big gaps in my schedule. Sunday, for example, has just a few items: run, write blogs, post blog. None of them have set times, it's more a loose to-do list. I fully intend to spend most of that day on the beach with my iPod, some Jack Johnson and a book (which will probably be used more as a pillow than for reading). And I shall eat strawberries and wonder what the poor people are doing (i.e. people in snow, not near water, etc.).

I understand what you mean though. I used to come up with schedules in college just so I could rebel against them - it made me feel spontaneous to be at Wal-Mart buying hula hoops at 1 am when I should have been writing my Vonnegut paper.

That you would consider someone to be rescuing you from your scheduled self makes me think that you don't enjoy schedules in the first place. Some people work well with highly-organized agendas, like me. I'm a terribly disorganized person in reality (you should see my apartment), so people marvel when they see my color-coded planner with my entire week neatly arranged. 

Why? Because I couldn't freakin' remember to do ANY of it if I didn't do this. If I were naturally organized and prompt, I wouldn't need multiple alarm clocks, a color-coded organization system, and e-mail reminders. If I were a naturally focused person, I wouldn't need productivity methods. I am simply a person who knows 1. her weaknesses, and 2. what she needs to do to accomplish her goals.

Do I want someone to rescue me? No. Do I want someone to share my beach blanket and smile back when I wonder what the poor people are doing? Sure. Do I want someone to sympathize with me when I get done with an 18-hour day? Absolutely. But I want someone who respects me enough to know that what I do is important to me and who supports me in it, who believes that I can do it - not someone who wants to 'take me away from it all.' 

I enjoy my life, so immensely. It's full, it's productive; readers (some friends, but mostly strangers) e-mail me and say what I'm writing is making a difference. That's why I do this. This is worth it to me. I wouldn't have it any other way."

The Problem With "You Complete Me"

You are, no doubt, familiar with the movie Jerry Maguire and the famous climatic scene in which main character Jerry realizes that he loves his wife and tells her, “You complete me.” Happy ending. Everyone cries and goes home, looking for the person who will complete them.

Don’t get me wrong – I love a chick flick as much as the next gal. Sleepless in Seattle is in my top five movies of all time. What I have a problem with is the part where we all leave the theater with aching hearts wondering where our Toms (both Hanks and Cruise) are. Wondering where and when will we ever find the person who completes us.

The problem with “You Complete Me” is that it assumes that you are missing something. And, many people are missing something, something they seem certain will be fulfilled once they find The One. Everything our culture tells us points to this – eHarmony commercials, romantic film after romantic film, pop songs bespeaking woes of broken hearts with missing pieces. Unfortunately, no one is looking at what our society tells us, which is that it doesn’t work out. One in two marriages end in divorce. Not first marriages, all marriages. So, of all marriages that take place – first, second, third, whatever – of all of them, 50 percent end in divorce. Forty percent of the population is currently single. What does that tell you?

You don’t have to look far. Chances are someone in your family, immediate or extended, has been or is currently divorced and/or has been married multiple times. It exists in my family, for sure. So, what makes us think we’re different? That somehow the first one is going to stick? That any of them are going to stick? That we’re not going to wake up 10 years into our marriage (the average lifespan of a modern marriage) and get divorced? There you are in your 40s trying to figure out how to do something you’ve never been able to do – be alone.

I’m not saying not to get married, not in the least. I believe in marriage. I respect marriage. I respect both love and marriage enough to not look to either as a goal, a milestone that must be accomplished like some kind of checklist. I’m not looking for someone to complete me.

Missing Piece People
No doubt, you’ve dated a Missing Piece Person (MPP). Or, you have been or currently are one. I’ve been one. A Missing Piece Person is one who doesn’t exactly feel whole. Someone who is missing something, something they are certain a significant other can fulfill. The Missing Puzzle Piece to their lives. Missing Piece People want a relationship; they are looking to you to be the piece that completes them.

I dated a Missing Piece Person recently. He was a fine person. The fact that after two months of being together he had professed love, told me he was going to marry me, and took me on house-hunting trips with his real estate agent ‘just in case I wanted to move in’ did freak me out a bit. I’m not a commitment phobe, though, and figured these kinds of things work themselves out.

The breaking point came when it became clear to me that this man had a lot of room in his schedule he was expecting me to fill. My inability to give that kind of time led to the swift demise of the relationship. It was a relief. It had been too much pressure to be the thing he was missing.

It took that break-up for me to realize that I, too, was being a Missing Piece Person. I was waiting to do a lot of things until I met The One. After all, you don’t want to be too busy to date him, right? What if I started on a career path he couldn’t keep up with? What if I made a commitment that interfered with his plans? After all, once I met him everything was finally going to come together right?

When I became a Whole Person
The thing that really solidified this for me happened one gorgeous November morning. I remember exactly what I was doing – brushing my teeth – when I realized that I was OK with being single. Better than OK, I was happy. I stepped out of my bathroom and surveyed my little apartment. My furniture, arranged how I wanted it. My sheets, the color I chose with no question of whether or not they were gender-neutral. My day, laid out before me, whatever I wanted to do that day, a world of possibilities. I smiled.

Then my phone rang. MPP wanted to meet up. “I want to get back together,” he says, later that night. “Why?” I ask, suspicious. “I’m ready for the next phase of my life to start,” he says. It became clear to me that he had decided the next phase of his life was to date someone for a few months, buy a house together, get married and have kids. It was a phase that needed to be started. It was just missing one thing.

That’s the problem with You Complete Me. He didn’t want me. He wanted Someone. He wanted me to do what I could not possibly do – complete him.

Today, I am happy on my own. I have a million things going on in my life, great things, things I that fulfill me, totally and completely. I don’t seek out dates. I read something at LifeHack in the comments section something that really stuck with me. A commenter said, “... being with the other person has to be more fun than being by myself (you’d possibly be surprised at how rarely that’s true).” I echo that sentiment.

I started seeing someone recently. He is a Whole Person, a person who is definitely not looking for someone to fill a hole. Knowing that he spends time with me a.) because he enjoys it, and b.) in spite of his very busy schedule, makes it so much the better. And because we are both Whole People we see each other only once or twice a week, what our schedules allow.

Buddhism – Whole Person philosophy
One of the central tenets of Buddhism is that suffering in life comes from clinging to what is fleeting. Someone told me once that we are born alone and we will die alone, and the sooner I accept that as a truth, the happier I will be in my relationships. Shocking as it was to hear, I’ve found it to be true.

When I’m with someone now, I’m not trying to figure out if they would make a suitable life partner (you know the checklist: earning potential, desired number of children, ability to age well, etc.). I look at whether or not this person would be fun to experience things with. What would they add? What do they bring to the table? Do they like to do the same things I do? Do they come at it from a different angle? Can they teach me something?

I get a lot of backlash about being OK with being single and the possibility that it could be forever. I am reassured always – “Don’t worry, Holly, you’ll find HIM.” “You’re too sweet/smart/pretty to end up alone.” These are all meant well, I know. But I know it will get worse as I get older (like the post and comments at LifeHack) or more outspoken (like Ryan P. over at Employee Evolution). It seems the fear of being alone is so pervasive we can’t even stand to watch our peers be OK with it.

My point in all of this is that I don’t think we should need somebody, like “You Complete Me” suggests. Nor should we want somebody because our lives are boring or seem incomplete without Someone. We should be OK with the odds of it never happening for us, living whole lives realizing our potential, not holding back because we are holding out for the Missing Piece. It would be great if I found someone to experience it all with, but I’m whole already. Everything else is just gravy.

If you’re waiting for someone to complete you, do yourself (and a potential significant other) a favor – go complete yourself. Because Whole People are far superior dates that Missing Piece People, and they only date other Whole People.

Get whole.